Braving the dark
by Iforgotmyformerusername
Summary: He reached for his head with his hand, only to find out he couldn't move it at all. Morse sucked in a breath and for a moment blind panic was all he registered. He tugged at his arms, but the ropes with which they were bound only scraped at his skin. The flash of panic chased the remaining fog away, and his situation became ever so clear. This wasn't good at all. (COMPLETE)
1. Chapter 1

**Hello and welcome to another good old Morse-gets-kidnapped fanfic. I was in the mood for some sweet whump and ended up writing this. This one is also up on AO3, where the updates will come slightly sooner, but that's only a matter of hours at most. I've already written most of this story, so updates hopefully won't take long. This story will probably have about 4 chapters. Enjoy!**

* * *

There weren't many things that were as satisfying as a difficult case coming to a good end. And there weren't many things that were as annoying as a case that had come to an end, but leaving a few loose threads that Morse knew he may never find the answer for.

He was grateful they had found the killer, he really was. He hadn't yet confessed and they still had to make total sense of the story, but the evidence against John Stackford was more than enough to guess what had happened. Morse knew however, that if Stackford would not start talking they would never get behind the true reason why he had killed a young man, Julian Ross.

Thus his decision to go out and talk to Miss Dion one last time, hoping she could clear some things up.

He shoved his hands further in his pockets as he walked down the road, reminded once more of the fact that he would have to buy a new pair of warm gloves soon. It was one of the coldest weeks of December in the last few years and in his flimsy coat Morse felt it all too well.

The thin layer of ice was slippery under his boots as he made his way up the small stairs in front of Miss Dion's door, careful to hold the bar firmly while wondering if the woman even knew what salt was. When he had safely reached the doorway he rung the bell, hoping for some answers and maybe a little bit of warmth.

With a creak the door swung open before him and Miss Dion appeared in the doorway. He flashed his badge and wanted to introduce himself again but Miss Dion spoke before he could.

"You're that policemen right? Do come in, it's icy cold outside, I'll make a cup of tea."

"Ah, thank you."

He followed the woman to the living room, a small space with a two sofa's across from each other with a table between them. He took a seat on the one closest to the window as Miss Dion disappeared to the kitchen.

Morse wrung his hands and blew on them to get them somewhere near warm again. They had talked to Miss Dion earlier already of course, the woman owned a bookstore in the middle of town Julian Ross used to visit often, but no obvious connection could be found between her shop and Julian's death.

Still, Stackford had been seen around there more often as well lately and Morse couldn't help but wonder if it was just a coincidence or the possible missing link that would allow them to make sense of the motives behind the cruel attack.

"What did you want to ask me?" The women handed him a cup of tea and sat down on the sofa across him with a cup herself.

"I was just wondering if you know anyone by the name of John Stackford? He has been to your shop a few times."

"I'm afraid I don't recognize the name." Miss Dion said, one brow arched. "Maybe if I were to see him I'd recognize him from the shop, but can't say I know him personally."

Morse hummed and sipped his tea, grateful for the warmth it brought. "And what about Mr. Peterson? You told me you met him a few times."

Peterson had been their first suspect, but that notion was soon dropped after the evidence started to point in the direction of the man they had in custody now.

The woman flashed him a smile, "Yes, I did. We actually went on a date together, can you believe that?" She looked at him as if she had just told him a joke, and Morse suspected it had something to do with the age difference between her and the 12 year older man.

"Nothing came from it of course, I was foolish to have thought so. But still." She sipped her tea and nodded almost unnoticeable. "It was a nice evening."

Morse smiled in his half empty cup. How many times had he himself gone on dates like that? Thinking that maybe he had finally found the one, having a great time and daring to hope. But it had always been over in a flash, whether by his hand or the girls'.

He emptied his cup and stood. "Well, thank you for your time Miss, that was really all I wanted to ask."

It hadn't been a fruitful visit, the connection with the shop appeared to be a coincidence after all, but having the loose ends out of the way always gave a sense of peace.

"Of course," the woman said as she walked him to the door. "Anytime."

As he nodded to her in thanks a sudden wave of dizziness hit him. Stood up too fast, most likely. He probably should've tried to get a bit more sleep last night, he had hardly gotten some, too busy thinking about the case. There was a connection they missed, he was sure of it.

The woman looked at him with concern in her eyes as his hand sought support against the wall.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry."

He shook his head to get rid of the fog that blurred his vision. Whereas normally it would have worked, now it had clearly been the wrong move to make, his vision didn't improve and the movement only caused nausea to rise on top of everything else. This wasn't just exhaustion playing up, what was happening? His legs were heavy, as if he had just run a marathon whilst having pitch-high fever.

He took a few deep breaths and blinked the fog away, he wasn't going ill was he? He staggered forward, positive it would pass soon, but his legs gave way and as he fell he vaguely registered two hands under his armpits lowering him on the ground. A blurry face appeared above him -Miss Dion. He opened his mouth to tell her to call the station, but no sound came out.

The woman was smiling at him and for some reason he found that very odd. Somewhere in the back of his mind an alarm was screeching for his attention. It hardly penetrated the fog though, and he couldn't figure out why her smile was so strange before the darkness overtook him.

* * *

He woke up in the most uncomfortable position ever. His head was throbbing and his arms were twisted behind him in a way he would never have gotten them himself.

And it was _cold._

If his headache wasn't what had woken him, it would've been the cold. It was an absolute freezing cell in here.

Wherever 'here' was.

The hard material beneath him and the stiffness of his back told him he was seated somewhere. On a chair? Not a very comfortable one then.

Slowly he opened his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the dark. As they did, the fog in his head finally cleared up a bit as well, although the pounding headache didn't cease. He reached for his head with his hand, only to find out he couldn't move it at all. Morse sucked in a breath and for a moment blind panic was all he registered. He tugged at his arms, but the ropes with which they were bound only scraped at his skin. The flash of panic chased all the remaining fog away, and his situation became ever so clear.

This wasn't good at all.

A short tug revealed that not only his arms, but his feet were tied to the chair as well. He whirled his head around, ignoring the pain the action caused, to look at his surroundings.

The chair stood in the middle of a room, with in front of him a door. To the right and left there was nothing but darkness, he couldn't tell just how much further away the walls were. It was clammy, damp and cold here, the stone floor and walls told him he must be in a basement of sorts. It was relatively empty -save for a few boxes and cupboards that stood against the wall. But more importantly, there was no one here. As soon as he realised that he tried to undo the knots that held his hands together, but could hardly even reach them.

Taking a shaky breath, he willed himself to calm down. Keeping a clear head would help him get out of here. Or so he hoped.

What had happened anyway? He had passed out in the hallway to Miss Dion's house, that he remembered. Had the woman dragged him here? It seemed highly unlikely, Miss Dion's wasn't exactly the bodybuilder type of woman. Then again, Morse knew he couldn't be fooled by appearances.

She had probably put something in his tea to knock him out, that much was clear, but why? Was she who had killed Julian Ross and not Stackford? And why do this, even if she was the killer, she might've gotten away with it. Their main suspect right now was John Stackford, and she just told him she didn't even know him. Could've been a lie of course, but he had believed her, so why take him down here anyway? Miss Dion didn't strike him as the murderer type at all either, something didn't add up.

Morse squeezed his eyes shut, cursing his headache and this bloody situation. Even if he got out of here, Thursday would have his head for being so careless. As if it was his fault the damn woman poisoned him.

By the time something finally happened, Morse's toes and fingers had become numb from the cold and he had to flex them every now and then to keep the blood circulating.

When the door opened, his head shot up, eyes narrowed to try and make out the figure who had entered the basement. As he came close Morse recognized the man as none other than Mark Peterson. The confusion upon seeing him must've shown on his face because the man grinned as he strode towards him.

"Well hello there, detective."

"What do you want?"

"What I want? You, out of the _focking_ way." He brought his face down so close that Morse could feel the man's breath on his face. He bit back a snide comment about the use of toothpaste. "But luckily for you, there are other plans."

Morse wasn't sure if that was supposed to ease his mind or not, because it certainly didn't.

"It's a focking shame though," Peterson said, standing up straight again, "Would've been nice to kill ya." He formed a gun with his hand and pointed it a Morse, pretending to pull the trigger. "_Beng_. Just like that."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because, smart-ass," Peterson grabbed Morse's chin and lifted it up so Morse looked straight in the dark stormy eyes of the man. "you've got a friend of mine in that dark stinky nest of yours, and I want him back. You are going to ensure that."

"Don't think I'll do anything for you." Morse said to the dark eyes full of anger. He hoped the fear that held his heart in a death-grip wasn't portrayed in his.

"Ah, ya don't have to. Just sit back and flash a smile for your friends." Peterson released his chin and almost immediately punched him in the face. The action send waves of hot pain through his face, and Morse was sure he felt his nose crack under the power behind the blow. Warm liquid flowed down his lips and chin. He groaned. The bastard.

"What did you call me?" The man asked.

Had he said that out loud? The second time the fist collided with his face told him yes, apparently so.

Trying to ignore the blood, Morse watched Peterson walk to one of the cupboards next to the door and rumbling through the cabinets, anxiety very quickly seeping through his body.

He let out a shaky breath as the man came back with just a Kodak in his hands. For a moment there he had feared something worse. Upon seeing the Kodak Morse finally realised what the man's plan was.

"They'll never trade me for Stackford," he said, "They're not stupid."

"Not stupid? I'm not so sure about that. I've heard coppers are usually willing to go very far for their mates."

"He has killed someone! They won't set a murderer free just for some insignificant DC!"

At least, Morse dearly hoped they wouldn't. And at the same time, a small part of his brain really, really hoped they would. He suppressed it, there was no way Bright, or even Thursday, would allow that. He had to find a way out on his own, preferably before Peterson noticed his plan wouldn't work and decided to kill him after all.

Morse squeezed his eyes shut as the man flashed the camera. One thing was for sure, that would be one extraordinary picture.

* * *

Morse was late.

Although Thursday wished he could say it was unlike him, he also knew that once Morse was onto something, he wouldn't stop until he had figured out the solution of whatever it was he had thought of, forgetting they had agreed to meet back at the nick at 5. He would be here any minute now.

But the seconds ticked by and still Morse didn't show up. After another 10 minutes of waiting Thursday grew more worried. A few minutes late was one thing, but 20 was getting ridiculous, even for Morse in one of his I-need-to-know-everything moods.

He poked his head out of his office to see a lot of officers had already decided to call it a day. Half of them had been sniffling throughout the day, getting a cold with this weather seemed unavoidable. Now that the pressure was off the case they could afford to leave early, so Thursday had happily let them. Strange was still here though so Thursday called out to him, knowing that if anyone might know where Morse was, it would be him.

"Any idea where Morse was headed?" He asked the man.

The officer in question turned to him at the call and thought about it. "Don't know sir, he said he was going to talk to Miss Dion again, but that was just after lunch. Haven't seen him since." He shrugged. "He's probably gone off on his own again, once he gets his mind on an idea…"

Thursday nodded, it was exactly what he had thought. "Well, let me know if you see him, he was supposed to be back here at 5."

"Will do sir."

With that, Thursday disappeared in his office again, wondering what he could throw in to make Stackford talk.

It was just after 7.30 pm that they received the envelope.

Thursday was getting ready to go home, finally done with the paperwork. Even without a confession Stackford would go behind bars, they had enough evidence. They would confront him tomorrow and let him sweat for a bit in his cell for now, Thursday knew from experience it could help loosen tongues.

Morse still hadn't turned up and no one had answered the phone when he had called to his flat, but Thursday decided to wait just a little longer before heading down there himself. The lad probably had his reasons, and it wasn't as if he couldn't take care of himself. Besides, the case was as good as solved. They had the man, they had the evidence, and although Morse often liked to disagree with their choice of suspects, he seemed to be sure of Stackford as well. All there was left to do now was make sense of the what the why and the how, and that could wait until tomorrow.

As he made his way through the station he passed Strange, walking back to his desk with a flat package in his hands.

When Strange saw him looking he waved it around. "Just came in, sir."

"At this time of day? Does it say from whom?"

Strange turned it around in his hands, but the envelope was blank. "Nope. A mystery admirer perhaps?" A smile tugged at his lips.

Thursday snorted. "Well, good luck sorting that out then. I'm off to home, see you in the morning."

"Night sir."

It had already gotten dark outside and the temperature had dropped drastically. Thursday was glad to have brought a scarf with him this morning. He wrapped it around his neck as he stepped in the brisk winter air, his breath forming little clouds that evaporated as quickly as they had formed.

He had taken exactly four steps before Strange's slightly panicked voice stopped him.

"Sir! You had better come in again."

The baffled expression of the constable caused dread to rise steadily, sensing that nothing good was waiting for him. With a fast pace he followed Strange to the table the other man had emptied the package on.

Disbelieve was the first thing that he felt when looking at the papers in front of him. The second was fear, and then anger.

They had him. The bastards had Morse.

There was a note telling them they had to let Stackford go, otherwise the next time they would see Morse he would be dead. They had been given a time limit of 12 hours, they were to release Stratford before then and not to touch or follow him for another 6 hours. Then, and only then, they would let Morse go.

The second thing that was inside the envelope was a picture of the detective. Tied to a chair, with blood on his face and his eyes closed against the flash of the camera. Thursday's chest ached at the sight of him. The poor sod. 18 Hours before they released him. 12 Hours to make the decision.

"Damn it!" Thursday slammed his fist against the table, which shuddered heavily on its legs. "Get some men back here, find out who wrote this, and where the hell this was taken." He told Strange as he pointed at the picture on the table. The man stayed uncharacteristically quiet, no doubt just as shocked by this change of events as Thursday himself was. "I'm going to pay a visit to Miss Dion."

If it would be any other day, he might've been bothered by the thought of ringing someone's doorbell this late, but now as he stood in front of Miss Dion's door he just couldn't find himself caring. This simply wasn't a normal case anymore. This was personal.

Just when Thursday considered ringing the bell again, the door opened, revealing a woman somewhat his age. In what had become somewhat an automatic gesture, he showed his card. "Miss Dion. Detective Inspector Thursday, Oxford City Police. I was wondering if I could have a word with you."

The woman looked at him sceptically, no doubt ruffled by the late hour. "Yes?" She asked, hesitantly. Thursday noticed she didn't invite him in, but took no offence. No doubt she wanted him gone as soon as, so she could return to her programs or cooking, or whatever she had been doing.

"A colleague of mine dropped by a few hours ago, is that right? Bit of a young chap, brown-reddish hair?"

"Yes, yes he was here indeed. Had a cup of tea with me and then left. Must've been around 2 o'clock I'd say."

"Do you remember what he asked you about?"

The woman licked her lips. "Oh, about Mark Peterson, and some other guy whose name I forgot. Stanford?"

"Stackford was it?"

"Yes, yes that one! I told him I don't know anyone by that name though."

"He didn't happen to mention where he went did he, when he left?"

Miss Dion thought about it. "I'm afraid not. Has something happened?"

"We've lost him for a bit," Thursday told her, not wanting to give too much away. "But I'm sure he'll turn up soon. Thank you for your time Miss."

He turned and headed for the warmth of his car, resisting the urge to rub his face. He had hoped the woman would be able to give them at least a little idea of where he was headed or what Morse had been on to, but it seemed this trail ended right here at her doorstep. He hoped that Strange was having more luck than he had.

Cold nights like these often brought a sense of peace with them, Thursday thought. The sky was clear enough to be able to see the stars, and the quiet streets told of people sitting at home in the warmth of a fire. Often he couldn't wait to get home, to Win and the children. Now not even the cold could bring him peace.

He wondered where Morse was and what had happened to him, if he was somewhere warm at least. And if he was scared or already planning his way out. Probably a bit of both, Thursday suspected.

He pulled the door of the car open, they would find the bastard who did this.

* * *

**Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

Thursday was starting to get quite fed-up with the smug looking idiot in front of him.

"This is the last time I'll ask you," He said deliberately slow. "Do you know who's behind this?"

"And this is the last time I tell you I have no clue whatsoever. But certainly I do like this fellow, might be worth getting to know him once I'm out." Stackford grinned at him and not for the first time Thursday wondered if it had been a good idea to tell the criminal what had happened.

Then again, they had nothing else to go on. Examining the finger prints on the package would take too long, and that's if there were any at all. There were officers working their hardest to try and find out which camera the photo had been taken with, but that too wasn't as simple as it sounded. Their biggest bet now was figuring out the location on the photo, but the dark surroundings gave very little away. It was in a building, that was for sure, but the floor was made of crude stones, not something typically found in your average house. If that line of investigation stranded as well, they would be left with very little.

Thus Thursday's choice to ask Stackford about it all, see if he let anything slip. This far that hadn't been the case however.

Strange and he had been questioning him for a good 20 minutes now, but the man claimed not to know the person doing this, for as far as he knew he 'had no friends willing to go that far'. Thursday doubted that, but he was pretty sure that this was no idea of Stackford himself. Whoever the mystery friend was, he was the one who had planned this scheme. Although Stackford did seem to feel very delighted with himself, no doubt already thinking about where he was going to go when they let him out. Not that that was going to happen, if Thursday had a say in it.

"Alright." He said. He had hoped it wouldn't be necessary, but he wasn't going to get anything more out of him this way. He shoved a copy of the picture send to them to Stackford. "Know where this is?"

Stackford whistled. "Doesn't look too good does he? Your boy?"

Strange slammed a hand on the table between them. "Do you, or don't you? Answer the bloody question."

"Alright, alright, no need to get fed up and all." He took the picture in his hands and examined it. Thursday searched his face for any signs of recognition, but found none. Either the man had a really good poker face, or he honestly didn't know.

"Even if I did know, why would I tell you?"

"Because we're not letting you out of here, no matter what. But if this man here turns up dead because you didn't tell us all you know, there's hell to pay." He was bluffing, Thursday knew he would let the man go if it meant saving Morse, but that was something Stackford didn't need to know.

"Besides," Strange added, "If you help us now, it might just lessen your time in jail."

The man seemed to consider this, but then laughed. "Nah, I know you coppers, I'll eat my shoe if you won't trade me for him." He stretched his arms as far as the cuffs allowed it and smiled at the ceiling. "Besides. Someone out there is risking his arse for me. No way I'm going to help you catch him." The chains rattled as he scratched at his chin and the subtle stubbles that were starting to form there. "I'm not a snitch you know. I really do wonder who it is though, if he gets me out of here we might become partners."

Thursday suppressed the urge to sigh. He actually really wanted to keep pestering the man, but they were wasting precious time. He had a feeling they wouldn't get anything more out of him.

"Alright. Think we've heard enough. Strange?"

Strange nodded at him and followed him outside.

"Do you think he knows anything sir?" He asked once they were in the hallway again.

It surprised Thursday how many people Strange had managed to get back here. Coppers walked around and about as if it was noon and there was a case to solve. Then again, they had to solve something more important than your average case. They had to find one of their own, that's undoubtedly something that got all the good men moving. He was especially pleased to see Jakes sitting at his desk. Him and Morse had never been the best of mates, but Thursday had long known the dislike for his colleague didn't run as deep as the sergeant would've liked them to believe.

He stepped aside to let a PC pass. "Can't say for sure. Don't think he's lying when he says he doesn't know who's behind this though. It seems to be a one-man action."

"You don't think there are more behind this?"

"Nah, it's too simple for that. A group would hold the hostage at gunpoint, demanding an immediate release. It would be foolish to attempt something like that on your own. I think that's why he's hiding instead, waiting for us to make the decision."

They had made their way back to the common area and Thursday turned towards his office. "I'm going to call Superintendent Bright, let me know if you find anything."

Strange nodded. "Will do. Good luck"

Thursday nodded his thanks and disappeared into his office, effectively shutting out the noises outside. Bright had already been informed of the situation of course, and had asked to be kept informed while he was on his way to the station.

The phone call was short and every bit as unpleasant as he feared. Thursday wished he could bring better news but the fact was simply that they hadn't come much further in the last few hours. Right before hanging up he braved himself enough to ask what their orders were in case the worst ended up happening and they couldn't find Morse before their time ran out. If it was his call to make he would know what to do, but Bright had to look at the bigger picture, and in the end he was still the one giving the orders. So although slightly disappointed and a tad bit frustrated, the DI wasn't surprised to hear the verdict.

"Policemen know they're risking their lives for this job Thursday. You of all people should know that. We can't let a murderer walk free, in this case it's simply the greater good at work here." The Chief Superintendent's voice was curt but not unkind. "Now, you still have time, don't you have someone to track down?"

Thursday knew he was dismissed, but frustration burned inside him, a flash of anger not easily toned down. "With all due respect sir." He began, voice strained to keep himself from shouting. "Are these your thoughts, or those of the higher men?" As soon as he had said it he realised it might not have been the smartest thing to say to his superior officer, but it was too late now to take it back.

"I understand your feelings on this matter Inspector," Bright countered briskly, "I don't like this anymore than you do, but there are some things we simply have no influence over."

Thursday didn't comment on that, seeing it would be unwise to argue any further. Knowing the last of this matter had, for the moment, been said, Bright's voice became a bit softer. "Make sure you find him Thursday." And with that the line went dead.

Thursday sighed as he put the horn back on the receiver and turned back to the letter and the picture he'd rather not look at. It didn't matter anyway. They would find Morse before the deadline that they had been given, no matter the cost.

* * *

Ironic as it was, it might be the cold that would end up saving him.

Morse had long given up trying to get his hands free when the constant flexing of his hands to keep them from freezing off started to shift the rugged ropes around his wrists ever so slightly. He had nearly gasped in surprise when he felt the robe give way, but didn't fully allow himself to hope just yet.

And now there he sat, moving his hands this way and that way, feeling the knot become slightly looser and looser. Maybe it was the apprehension of not knowing when Peterson might be back, or the adrenaline of what would soon be an attempt at escaping, but it frustrated Morse greatly that it was taking this long. At one point he had feared he had reached the end when even after some harsh tugging the pressure on his wrists didn't lighten again, but he had found a knot he could _just_ reach and began the painstaking process of opening that one before he could resume his attempts at gaining space. It didn't help that they were tied behind his back and he couldn't see a thing of what he was doing.

But now he could feel he was getting close, he needed just a little bit more space before he could slip one hand through and use it to free the other one and his feet. After that... Well let's just say he _really_ hoped that that door there wouldn't be locked.

Morse took a moment to breathe, his wrists were raw and numb from all the pulling and tugging. He wouldn't be surprised to see them bleeding.

A sudden loud sound from behind the door startled him and his head shot up. He could feel the fear creeping up in his chest again as he stared with wide eyes at the door, hoping it wouldn't be Peterson coming back. If he stayed in front of him he probably wouldn't notice the slightly loose knots, but Morse's heart was still pounding in his chest.

Only when it had stayed silent for what must've been at least 10 minutes did he pull his eyes away from the door. It seemed that whoever had caused the noise wasn't coming in. Yet. But it did mean that there were other people in the building, which was something to keep in mind.

After what felt like hours he could finally pull one hand free. He hesitated a second before releasing the other one, knowing that if he freed himself it would be final, he would have to make his escape quickly before anyone found out. A new wave of anxiety washed over him at that thought, but he pushed it down quickly. Escaping was a scary thought but staying here was way worse.

He carefully pulled his other hand free as well and brought them to the ropes at his feet, muscles aching from the strain of the position they had been in for so long. He stood swiftly and rubbed his arms in an attempt to get warmer as he silently made his way to the door. Stealth would be the best way to go, he decided, but time was of the essence.

The metal knob of the door was icy cold against his hands but it went unnoticed, just like the sigh of relief as the door gave way. Not locked, thank God. Now the real challenge began.

At the other side of the hall there was a wooden door, and halfway through was a staircase leading to what he assumed would be the ground floor. The sound of footsteps above him and a booming laugh that sent chills down his spine made the decision for him -the door it was.

With his heart in his throat he made his way through the hallway, careful not to make too much noise.

But of course his luck couldn't last that long. When had it ever before in his life? Just as he reached for the handle of the door the voice of the man in the other room -who he now unmistakably recognized as Peterson himself- called out to someone else in the room. Morse couldn't hear everything he said but he did get the words "check-up" and "downstairs".

It was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice cold water over him. Without thinking he pulled the door open and slipped through it, closing it just as he heard the first footsteps starting to descend.

_Crap, crap, crap._ He was in trouble now. In real, big trouble.

With his hands stretched out in front of him he tried to find his way through the dim room, trying to ignore his racing heart. There had to be an exit somewhere. It would be seconds before Peterson found out what had happened, and there was only one way he could've gone.

It was no use -no, he _had_ to try.

He spotted another door at the other side of the room and sprinted towards it, trying desperately to get it open with sweaty hands, only to find this one to be locked. A blood boiling curse could be heard from behind him and tears started to prick behind his eyes as he fruitlessly pulled at the door handle. This was _not_ happening.

Abandoning the door he swirled around in the hopes of finding another exit. Fast and angry footsteps came his way and Morse still couldn't find another way out. So with a strength he didn't know he possessed he did the first thing that came to mind -breaking through the locked door. The wooden door gave way under his weight and with a loud crash he landed on the floor in the hallway beyond. Stealth was out of the window anyway.

Peterson had reached the room by now and was shouting a whole string of curses while speeding towards him.

Morse ran for his life. The hallway took a sudden turn left and ended with a staircase leading upstairs -hopefully a way out. Peterson was gaining on him fast and Morse knew this needed to end soon, he would be no match for the man in a fight.

Once he reached to top of the stairs he allowed hope to blossom for a second. There was a door right in front of him and there was light coming through the opening underneath. He could even swear he heard a car driving past. So close.

Within seconds he was pulling the door open, thanking whoever was listening that the idiots hadn't locked this one. The cold wind and the dark of the night greeted him and this time he could only smile because of it. On the street he would be safe, they wouldn't drag him back in open view. He would be- Before he had taken even two steps outside pain exploded in his back and his broken nose hit the pavement with a sickening noise.

He didn't even have the time to process what had just happened before a shoe was put on his shoulder and rolled him around on his back. His heart was hammering against his ribcage as he tried to crawl out of the reach of the man, knowing it was futile. It was over for him now, a chance like this wouldn't be given to him again.

Rough hands grabbed his suit and pulled him upright and inside the house before he was slammed against a wall there, the door that should've let to his freedom closing softly behind them.

"What do you think you're doing oy?" Peterson shouted in his face and slammed him against the wall a few more times for good measure.

Even if he had wanted to Morse couldn't react, his head was buzzing and he couldn't get it to form a complete sentence. Unfortunately, the man in front of him took that as an insult of sorts and he shouted some more questions that didn't need answering before throwing the detective to the ground and kicking him harshly on the ribs. This time Morse couldn't help but cry out as he curled protectively in on himself, tears and blood dripping down on the carpet.

"This'll teach you, you arrogant sack!" Two more kicks and he was hauled upwards again, Peterson having a vice grip on his arm. "Learned your lesson yet?"

Morse wanted to say something smart back, to show his wits and that he really wasn't going to give up this easily, but everything hurt and he was just so, so tired.

Recognizing he wasn't going to get an answer out of him, Peterson dragged Morse down the stairs and all the way back again. Morse did his best to keep up, but his ribs were screaming in protest at every movement and his head was slowly killing him.

Before he knew it he was back in the room he had hoped to escape, Peterson once more tying him to the chair he had worked so hard to get out of.

He silently wondered if he was ever going to get out of here, and then berated himself for thinking like that. He really didn't have much of a choice, it was either get out or die here, and he really didn't feel like doing that last one.

"That should do it. Don't even think about trying to escape again, I won't be so kind then."

He would try again. As often as if would take. Just.. maybe not right now.

His head was slowly sagging forward and it was getting harder to keep his eyes open. The blurry figure that was Peterson was walking to the cabinet again but Morse couldn't figure out for the life of him what he had been doing there. He dimly realised the man was still talking to him, but the universe finally showed him mercy and his eyes fell shut as he gave in to the sweet pull of the darkness.

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**Reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

Time was ticking by way fast and Thursday was well aware of it. It was pitch dark now outside and he couldn't help but steal the occasional glance at the clock on his desk or that in the common room. There were only 4 hours left to find Morse. 4 Hours to find what they weren't able to find in the last 8 ones. They were running out of leads and everyone grew restless and agitated.

Thursday had been on the phone with Win a couple of times, to let her know what was going on as much as to let her calm his nerves a bit. He knew he had to keep a clear head if they wanted to get somewhere with this investigation, but now that they had seemingly gotten to a dead end even the soft words of faith that Win gave him couldn't bring him out of it.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was letting Morse down. The lad probably would've cracked the case within the first 6 hours, seeing connections that many others might miss. And now, who knew what he was going through.

The DI scanned the little things they did know. The picture and letter had been put up on the board for everyone to see, including a photograph of Miss Dion with the words "left there at approx. 2.15". After that, no one knew what had happened.

"PC Jones has spoken with the innkeeper at the Seven Bees. His wife had been sweeping the porch around that time, but hasn't seen anyone with Morse's description." Jakes had come walking up to him, interrupting his thoughts.

"So, little chance he has gone that way then."

"Seems that way sir."

"Knowing Morse, he'd either come back to the station or pursue a lead he suddenly thought of. But he can't have gotten much from Miss Dion, she told him she didn't know Stackford."

Jakes seemed to hesitate. "Are we sure we can trust _her_ though?"

Of course Thursday had already asked himself that very same question. What if whatever happened, happened when Morse was with Miss Dion? Could she be behind it?

"There's no way we can connect those two though. Yes, Stackford has gone to her shop a few times, but that could be purely circumstantial/coincidental. We can hardly arrest her based on that alone."

Jakes brushed a hand through his hair and Thursday could see he itched for a smoke, no doubt just as frustrated with this entire case as he was himself.

"Then what do we do?" He asked.

Someone behind them scraped their throat. "I eh, I might've got something that can help."

Thursday turned around to see PC Kolme standing in the doorway, a brown envelope in his hands that looked identical to the one that was currently being examined by the people from forensics. The DI made his way over to him quickly. "Where did you find this? On the doorstep?"

Kolme nodded, "I just wanted to step outside for a bit of air and there it was."

"Did you see anyone? Anything at all?"

Kolme shook his head. "I didn't, I walked a few feet in either direction but the street is abandoned."

Thursday tried not to keep his hands from shaking as he took the package from the PC, already dreading what they'd been send this time. Once more the package contained a short letter accompanied by a picture. He laid them on the table beside him for everyone to see.

_He tried to escape, but it didn't work out so well for him. The deadline has moved up, I want John Stackford out within the next 2 hours._

Thursday's heart dropped. 2 Hours. They wouldn't make it.

And the picture downright tore his heart to shreds. It had been taken in the same place as before, but Morse was unconscious this time, it looked like the ropes that bound him to the chair were the only things holding him upright. Thursday winched at the sight of his face, blood covered it and it looked like his nose was broken in more places than one. One eye was swollen and there was blood on his shirt as well, though Thursday couldn't figure out if it was because of an unseen wound underneath it or if it had some other source.

And that all because he had tried to escape, had wanted to get out of there. Something Thursday could've assured if they had just found him. There was hell to pay if he found out who was behind this.

The other coppers looked just as shocked as him at seeing the picture. Strange wore a grimace and Jakes quickly looked away.

Not trusting his voice enough to speak Thursday walked over to the board and hung the contents of the second package next to that of the first one. It felt so wrong to have Morse on a picture on the board, like your usual murder victim, and not standing there besides them to help them solve the case.

"Alright," he tried to keep the fear and anger out of his voice as he turned to the coppers that were still here, helping them. "You know what to do, don't forget to examine the package as well. Jakes, take a peek outside and see if anyone has seen someone around who could've put that thing on our front step." He doubted there was still anyone on the street at this time of day, but it couldn't hurt to ask around.

"Thursday, my office?"

While everyone got back to their duties Thursday turned to follow Bright. The superintendent had come back to the station halfway through the night, probably more out of a felt obligation to be there than to actually be able to help, but Thursday was grateful for it anyway. There were many officers who would just stay in bed when a DC went missing and only hear what the outcome had been the following morning.

"Are we getting anywhere?" Bright asked as Thursday closed to door behind him.

"We're hoping the second package will give us more to go on than the first, but Stackford doesn't seem to know who the culprit is and so far we have no lead yet as to where Morse could've gone after visiting Miss Dion. With the deadline dropping to two hours we're going to have a hard time getting to him before that I fear." The guilt about this whole matter was discernible in his voice.

"A downright awful matter is this. We can only hope he's holding out well."

Thursday knew what Bright meant, it was clear from the photograph they've just gotten that physically he wasn't doing too well. They could only hope that his mental state fared better.

"How are you getting on then?"

That wasn't a question Thursday had seen coming. He hadn't given his own wellbeing much room for thought, not when every second counted. Pondering the question for a moment, he decided to be honest about it. "I would feel a lot better knowing the lad was safe and sound, but I'm holding on. Calling the missus every now and then to keep my feet on the ground."

"Good, that's good. Well, that was all I wanted to ask really, I'll let you get back to your duties. Mind how you go Thursday."

"Thank you sir." Eager to get on with the search the DI turned to the door, only to be called back just as he stepped through it.

"Oh and Thursday, the locks on our holding cells can be… rusty, from time to time. Right?"

He couldn't help but smile a little. "Of course sir. Shame they haven't been fixed yet."

"Yes, quite. Well, carry on." And with that, the door closed behind him.

* * *

It was cold. It was oh so very cold. And this time wiggling his hands did nothing except allowing the ropes to bury themselves deeper into the flesh of his wrists. Peterson had pulled the ropes extra tight after his escape, probably in fear of the same thing happening again. He stopped by every now and then as well. Luckily he only got insults thrown at his head and not any more kicks or punches, Morse wasn't sure how many more of those he would be able to handle.

He felt neither fingers nor toes and apart from a constant dull throbbing his nose was numb as well. Though he was probably grateful for that last fact, from what he could see from the corner of his eyes it would only hurt a lot. Now he just had to deal with ribs that hurt with every breath and every shiver, and a splintering headache that had probably come hand in hand with a concussion.

Peterson had just left again so he knew he would be sitting in the dark here by himself for some time. He had no way of knowing how much time had exactly passed, though he suspected the dark had already reached its worst.

He closed his eyes again. It had been much better when he was out of it, there was no cold or pain or fear to be felt then. Not for the first time he wondered if these were the last hours of his life. Captivity does that to a man, especially when facing the unknown.

That he was still here means he was right in guessing that they wouldn't let Stackford out so easily. They were probably trying to crack the case and find him. At least, he knew Thursday and Strange must be. He never really made friends with the other coppers, he couldn't imagine someone like Jakes for example sacrificing a night of sleep because of him. Maybe Thursday would order him to, if so Morse would probably get an earful from his colleague about making him work through the night when he came back.

If he came back.

He hardly believed it himself to be honest, he knew the first few hours of any kidnapping were crucial. If they hadn't gotten a lead on him by now they wouldn't by the end of the night. Morse hadn't lied when he told Peterson he didn't think they'd trade Stackford for him. They would be stupid to do so, with no way of guaranteeing Peterson would keep his word.

He got pulled from his musings by the door in front of him opening and a shadow stepping through, his breath already catching before he could good and well see the person in front of him. This sudden visit surprised him, Peterson usually waited some time before coming to check up on him again.

Morse squinted his eyes to try and make out the figure walking towards him. Something wasn't right, the posture was off. This was…

"Miss Dion?"

The woman brings a finger to her mouth in a shushing motion. "I'll explain later, we have to be quick." And to Morse's astonishment she knelt down and began to undo the restraints at his feet.

"What-"

"Later."

Was this the concussion giving him hallucinations or was Miss Dion really helping him to get out of here? He had assumed that she was the one who drugged him, had he been wrong about her?

With steady hands she helped him stand up after freeing him from the restraints. Morse couldn't help but grunt at the pain in his ribs and feels some misplaced kind of guilt for having to lean so heavily on her. The room spins for a moment and the headache seems to flare, but by the time they reach the door it has reduced to a few blurry patches in his vision. Miss Dion still doesn't say anything so Morse lets her lead him through the hallway and the door he had hid behind earlier.

It was only then that it occurred to him that this might very well be a trap, and he silently berates himself for not thinking about that possibility earlier. He steps aside when Miss Dion silently closes the door behind them, inching backwards and leaning against the wall for support.

"Why are you doing this?" The shivers that racked his body made his voice shake but he ignored it. If she still wouldn't tell him he wouldn't take one more step with her, of that he was sure.

The woman looked at him with a slight frown, apparently coming to the conclusion it would be easier to just tell him. "Peterson has gone too far, and I cannot stand for it."

"Weren't you the one who drugged me?"

"Yes, I was. We have to keep going, I'll tell you on the way."

Reluctantly Morse followed Miss Dion. He was slower when walking on his own but he didn't trust her enough to be that near again. Which was a stupid notion of course, if she wanted to hurt him she had every chance to do so, the state he was in.

"After our date Peterson and I became good friends, knowing there was no chance for us as lovers but still enjoying each others company. I came to learn that he had fallen in love with another man, and wishing him the luck and love we weren't able to give each other I decided I wanted to help him out."

They carefully made their way past the splintered door Morse had kicked in. He couldn't help but glance over his shoulder every now and then, the feeling of being chased lingering.

"He had met Stackford when visiting my shop a couple of times, but then you lot locked him up. Convinced that Stackford could never kill anyone, Mark wanted to get him out."

"And you just helped him like that?"

"I thought I was helping an innocent person out." The venom in her voice spiked for a moment, but it disappeared as quickly as it had surfaced. "I never did like the police. But after I saw what he was doing to you I wasn't so sure what to believe anymore. The friend I know would never have done something like this."

She glanced over where Morse had stopped to lean against the wall, trying to catch his breath. "You okay?"

"I'll be fine" In truth he was anything but, his legs were weak and unstable and it took everything he had to not pass out right there and then. If Miss Dion was right though, and she really was helping him then there was no time to waste.

"Where is Peterson anyway?" He asked while pushing himself off the wall and resuming their walk.

"I'm not entirely sure, but he said he would be back within a quarter of an hour, which doesn't give us too much time."

"When was this?"

Miss Dion looked at her watch. "About 10 minutes ago. He won't notice your absence immediately, but it won't be long until he starts looking downstairs, I'd wager we have about 10-15 minutes left."

They had come to a halt before the stairs. Morse looked up them in dread, wondering just how he was supposed to climb them.

"I'll help you." Miss Dion read his thoughts. "You go first, I'll walk behind you."

Hesitating but not seeing any reason to distrust her with this, Morse did as she said. It was a painful process and one that took entirely too long for his taste, but somehow they eventually reached the hallway. Once upstairs he sank against the wall, trying to catch his breath and holding his sore ribs. He was still shivering like crazy, although he noticed that it was warmer up here than it had been in the basement.

Miss Dion gave him half a minute before pulling him upright again. "Okay up you go, I'm sorry for this but if you want to make it out you really have to start going now. You're going to have to do the rest on your own."

"Wait- I can't leave you behind here, who knows what he'll do to you when he figures out what happened." Morse didn't exactly feel a lot of sympathy for the woman who had helped in getting him here in the first place, but he also knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if she got into trouble for helping him out.

Miss Dion looked at him in surprise. "Maybe I was wrong, perhaps not all coppers are asshats. But I'll be fine, trust me, Peterson only has eyes for Stackford nowadays, he won't care about me. That's exactly why you have to hurry however, I fear he'll be coming right after you. Cowley station is only ten minutes away, I'll try to slow him down but you're going to have to be fast if you want to reach the station before Stackford reaches you."

Morse was not looking forward to a walk through the snow when he was already cold and in pain, but for the first time since his failed attempt at escaping earlier he allowed himself to feel the slightest shimmer of hope.

"Thank you." He said. "For helping me."

"Yes, well, I just hope you make it in time. Sorry I can't give you an extra coat, heaven knows you look like you need one, but Stackford would notice it immediately. Now, go."

She was nearly dragging him outside now, and knowing the urge in her voice had a very solid reason, Morse stepped into the cold night air. As soon as he did the door closed behind him. Recognizing the street he was on -thank God for that- he blinked the fog away, wrapped his arms around himself, and started the long walk home.

* * *

**Can I just say a huge THANK YOU to the guest who has been commenting on the last two chapter? (I assume they're both from you and not actually 2 different people but if that is the case please correct me!) Thank you so much for your support, I hope you liked this chapter!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Here it is, the last chapter. I'm sorry for thinking there was only one person when it appeared to be two different people commenting! Thank you both so much! And thanks for pointing that out ;) Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

They had little choice left. It was either letting Stackford walk free, or bring him to justice knowing it would cost Morse his life. And they couldn't let him die like that. Thursday would be damned if he allowed that to happen. This choice might render him a bad copper and cost him his job, but that was still ten times better than being a bad friend.

So he turned to Strange, who was looking at him with a pained expression, knowing full well what was coming. "Do you want me to let him go sir?"

Thursday ran a hand through his hair. He was sure the last hours had added even more grey ones to the bunch. "I don't see any other option. We have 10 minutes left, there is no way we're going to find either Morse or the one holding him in that time."

And he didn't want to think about what would happen if they didn't do anything. Would Morse be killed? Left outside to rot away? He wouldn't stand for that. The consequences of this choice might stay with him forever, but he surely wouldn't be able to live with himself if he could've prevented his bagman from being killed and not doing shit about it. So although it was with pain in his heart that he watched Strange walk towards the holding cells, he knew it was the better option out of the two.

But before Strange could disappear through the corridor, the front door swung open and, carried by a gust of wind, banged against the wall, drawing everyone's attention to it.

A cold draft cooled the room instantly, but it was not that that made the hairs on Thursday's arms rise. It was the sight of the dishevelled man in the doorway that caused that. Somewhere to his left, Strange dropped his notepad.

"_Morse?_"

The man leaned heavily against the frame of the still open doorway, breathing quickly, but his eyes found Thursday's.

"Don't let him go." It was barely a whisper, silently uttered through cracked lips, but Thursday had no trouble hearing it. His heart skipped a beat. Was this really happening?

Relief flooded him and without a second thought, he rushed to Morse's side. "Alright now, we're not letting anyone go here. Why don't you come in and sit down hm?"

Worry overshadowed relief as he noticed Morse was hardly even able to stand. What had they done to him? He guided Morse inside and gestured to a PC to close the door behind them.

As if coming out of a trance, everyone started moving again. Thursday heard someone pick up a phone to request an ambulance, and someone else went to get Bright. He only had eyes for the shivering man next to him though, who had found his way back as if by some miracle.

He carefully lowered him to one of the chairs. As soon as he sat Morse sagged to the side, leaning against the table to prevent himself completely falling of the chair. The boy looked absolutely exhausted.

"Sorry sir," he blurted. "Should've been more.. more careful, tea.. should've noticed. Didn't smell."

Tea? What on earth was he talking about?

"It's alright, I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Take it easy now, the ambulance will be here any minute."

Strange had fetched one of the woollen blankets they held at the station for emergencies and now draped it over him. Immediately Morse pulled it tighter around himself, sighing and sinking in its warmth.

"Should've known." He muttered, but the power behind his voice was disappearing and his head drooped, eyes slowly closing.

"Hey now, stay awake Matey." Strange lightly tapped his cheek, but the only reaction he got was a disgruntled "Hmm." He looked at Thursday with a worry on his face. "He's really cold sir."

Thursday moved a hand to touch Morse's forehead as he had done so many times with Sam and Joan. But instead of the hot clammy touch typical for fever, the skin under his hand was freezing cold. Bloody hell, where had they kept the boy? Had they really just dumped him in a cold basement then?

"Hypothermia most likely." He guessed, and tucked the blanket closer around Morse, who was trying his hardest to stay awake.

Then, as if Morse suddenly returning wasn't strange enough yet someone else came storming through the door, knocking over the unlucky man who had just closed it. Thursday saw Morse's eyes widen in fear, his mouth forming words he could only guess at.

The DI shot around to see the intruder watch them for half a second, -one heartbeat long Thursday feared he would come for Morse again- but at the last second the man changed direction and stormed past them towards the holding cells.

"No! Get him!" Strange shouted, although he really didn't need to. Four officers were already on their way, tackling the big man on the ground.

"No, no! Let me go you focking idiots! Let _him_ go!" He struggled against the men holding him down and managed to punch one officer before PC Jones was able to cuff his arms behind his back. "Let him go, it was me who killed him then, take me, not him. Never him." The last two words were almost a sob, the furiosity leaving his attacks.

The station had fallen silent once more, shocked that the big man who had kidnapped a detective now laid on the ground crying, his eyes full of anger and grief and spilled tears.

Eventually it was Morse's weak voice that broke the silence. "He's in love."

In surprise Thursday stared at the man. Love? He had been a detective for a good while, but he hadn't seen that one coming. It would certainly explain this suicide-action of running into a police station full of officers. Love could be a very powerful motivator indeed.

"Love or not, he still committed a crime, one he will answer for."

When Morse failed to react Thursday turned his head to him to see the lad had slumped down in his chair even further, exhaustion finally catching up with him. As much as Thursday wanted to beat the living daylight out of the man who had caused so much harm to his bagman, he knew he would get what he deserved in prison. Right now he had other priorities.

"Morse?" he tried, kneeling in front of him, but the lad didn't even stir. From the corner of his eye he could see Strange leading the distraught man to the cells.

What kept that ambulance? Even though the relief of seeing Morse again was immense, the adrenaline of the last few hours hadn't left him yet. It was almost impossible to believe it could be over so quickly.

With two fingers he felt at the cold neck of the man in front of him. Morse's heartbeat was too slow, but not as weak as Thursday had feared, and still very much present. He released the breath he didn't know he had been holding, the slow but steady heartbeat under his fingertips the reassurance he had needed.

"He'll be alright then?" Jakes had walked up to the two.

"He has a long recovery ahead of him, but he'll pull through, I'm sure."

Jakes only nodded before turning away and lighting a cigarette, seemingly satisfied with the answer. In the distance, Thursday could already hear the sound of sirens getting louder and louder.

* * *

_He was dreaming, he knew he was, but it didn't lessen the panic he felt even one bit. _

_He kept running and running from whatever was behind him, but it -no, _he_\- would catch up every time to drag him back into the shadows. _

_Now he was running again, the ground firm under his feet, hoping this time would be different. Until his foot got stuck behind a branch, causing him to topple forward and land face first on the ground. He closed his eyes, heart racing in fear. The shadow behind him was already catching up. _

_He could never get away, whatever he tried._

With a jolt Morse startled awake. Wide eyes scanned his surroundings for danger and when he didn't instantly recognize where he was the tendrils of fear that were still left over from the dream increased tenfold.

Get out, he had to get out now.

He swung his legs out of the bed he was put in, not even taking the time to think about why he was in a bed and not a chair, and stood on legs that were far too weak. The world was spinning but he kept himself upright and raced to the door.

Or at least, he would have if he hadn't been stopped halfway. There was a sharp pain in his hand and he gasped in surprise and frustration. In blind panic he grabbed ahold of the needle that held him back and cast it aside, the memory of needing to free himself from the restraints still fresh in his mind.

He crashed into the door before managing to open it and running through it. Once again his timing was the worst ever, he nearly collided with someone who had been standing in front of his door, but he recovered before they could and sprinted past them.

Away away away, that was the only thing on his mind. Down the corridor and then left, this time he might just make it.

He half ran half stumbled down the hall, cursing his weak legs for slowing him down this much.

It shouldn't have been a surprise then when a hand grabbed his arm and once again stopped him from finding his way to freedom. His breath caught in his throat and Morse tried to pull himself free with all the strength he had left, eyes squeezed shut. He expected a blow to come any moment now, even a small one would be enough to knock him out cold, but there only appeared more hands to keep him still.

He struggled and kicked but was in the end too weak to do any real damage. Right there and then his legs decided it had been enough and the hands gently lowered him onto the cold tiles.

Once again he had been bested, it would never be enough. Was he crying again? Now that the panic was slowly morphing into a sad acceptance he realised that people were talking about him. No, not about, _to_ him.

"That's it, take it easy now, you're safe."

"Open your eyes Morse, look at where you are."

"You're alright."

Confusion started to overshadow the fear and after a second of hesitation he dared to look up at the faces of the people holding him on the ground. Unfamiliar faces above him caused the panic to flare up again and he tried to get up, only to be quickly pushed down again.

"Relax matey, you're okay."

This one he did recognize however, and finding the face that belonged with the voice spiked his confusion, but at the same time calmed the worst of his nerves.

"S-Strange?" His mouth was dry like sandpaper but his voice had been heard nevertheless.

Strange looked relieved to hear him and smiled. "Glad to have you back."

"What- why.." Why was Strange here, he wanted to ask, why was he still on the ground and not back in the chair by now, why hadn't he been kicked or punched yet. But his throat wouldn't cooperate and every thought that entered his mind was hazy and unclear.

Another voice he recognized answered for him. "You're in the hospital right now Morse. Peterson is locked up tight, he can't hurt you anymore."

Morse turned his head towards the sound, his last doubts disappearing as he found the face of his commanding officer.

"You gave us a right good scare there lad." Thursday looked every bit as relieved as Strange had and an enormous weight fell of his chest as Morse realised that maybe, maybe he might be okay after all.

"Sorry." He whispered.

"Now, there's no need for that, let's just get you back to bed hm? A long night's rest will do you good."

But Morse was already out like a light before the words had the chance to get through to him.

* * *

The next time Morse woke up it was a lot less eventful. For the first few seconds after he opened his eyes the confusion from before was back again and he started upright, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder gently pushing him back.

"Take it easy now, we don't want a repeat of what happened earlier."

His eyes met those of Thursday and he let out a soft sigh. So it hadn't been a dream then, he really was out of there.

"What.." He scraped his raw throat "What happened?"

Thursday handed him a glass of water that had been on the bedside table, from which he gratefully took a few sips. "What do you remember?"

"I remember being.. there. And I remember running away and getting dragged back." Morse furrowed his brow. "And I remember walking through snow."

"The doctor said your memory might be a little hazy, you got clobbered on the head pretty hard. It'll come back to you."

"I'd probably rather it didn't."

Thursday looked at him with an expression Morse couldn't quite place. Was it sympathy?

"We're glad to have you back." The DI finally said. "Win's already busy making sandwiches for you and insists that you drop by for dinner after they release you. Told her it'd probably be a few days."

Morse smiled. "Mrs. Thursday is too kind. Though surely it won't be days until they let me go? I'll feel better in no time, I'd rather get back to work soon."

"Like hell you will, I don't want to see you back at the nick for _at least_ a fortnight."

Morse already opened his mouth to protest but Thursday cut him off.

"You're going to need to take better care of yourself Morse, you'll run yourself ragged if you continue like this. The only reason you're feeling okay right now is because they pumped you full of morphine, you still have three cracked ribs and a concussion. Not to mention the touch of hypothermia you've brought with you." He hadn't meant to give the DC a lecture as soon as he had woken up, he really hadn't, but the hours of worry from last night had to find a way to the surface somehow.

He sighed. "Look, I know you're eager to get back to work as soon as, but you have to give yourself the chance to heal."

It stayed silent after that, and just as Thursday thought that was the end of the conversation Morse spoke up.

"I'm sorry to have worried you sir." Of course the lad had to apologize about it.

"And I am sorry you had to go through all that. Shows how much we need you on our cases, we could hardly even solve yours, regrettably."

Morse turned to him. "It's not your fault, from what I gathered you had very little to go on."

"Yeah well, we still should've." Thursday feared that this night would haunt him for the remainder of his life. If Morse hadn't come stumbling back himself anything could've happened. But he banished the thoughts from his head. The lad was here, safe, and Stackford and Peterson were behind bars. No use cracking his head over what-ifs, as he had told Morse himself multiple times before.

"Sir, what happened to Miss Dion?"

"We brought her in after Peterson had told us what had transpired, and she told us about how she had helped him at first but changed her mind when she saw what Peterson was doing." Thursday hadn't been there during the interview himself, wanting to be here in case Morse tried to escape from his room again, but Jakes and Strange had been more than happy to do so. Thursday hoped they were home and in bed by now, it had been a long night and God knows they all needed to catch up on sleep.

"She'll be serving less time than Peterson, but she was still an accomplice so I'm afraid that she'll do her time anyway, despite helping you out."

Morse hummed. "I figured as much."

Thursday stood up from the stool after a minute of silence and stifled a yawn. "I think it's time for us both to get some rest, you look exhausted and I sure know I am."

It took a second before Morse reacted to that, and when Thursday looked a him he noticed he had been nodding slightly. "Good night sir. And thank you."

"Anytime." He promised, and walked out of the door, the immense feeling of relief at the outcome of this case once more making its presence known.

It might take some time for Morse's wounds to heal and even longer before the mental wounds would soften their touch, but it could've ended up a lot worse.

He would be alright.

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**Reviews are very much appreciated :)**


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